


Expresso

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-17
Updated: 2006-03-17
Packaged: 2019-02-02 16:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12729834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Facing temptation and failing.





	Expresso

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

I never once thought I'd say this, but Daniel is an evil, *evil* person.

So, I'm sitting in my lab one day, minding my own business, fiddling with some navigation circuitry for a new MALP design, when my phone rings. Deep in thought, as I am, it startles me. The motherboard I was working with just up and decides to jump out of my hand and onto the floor across the room, shattering into a million pieces in the process. I sigh and lean over to pick up the phone.

"Carter," I tell it, as a means of greeting to the party on the other end. In a deviant corner of my brain, I hope I managed to subtly convey my disgust at being disturbed. No such luck.

"Sam! Hi!" Daniel. He sounds in good spirits...

"What, Daniel?" I sigh, pulling the phone with me as I move to inspect the wreckage of my project.

"Well, do you think you could come by my office for a minute? I need your help with something."

I sit back on my heels and suppress a small laugh. "Daniel... *you* need *my* help with something? Since when?"

"Well... it's... kinda mechanical. Just... come on. Won't take a minute."

* * *

A short while later, I find myself turning a corner and stepping into view of Daniel's office. Immediately, something strikes me as odd. His door is closed. He never closes his door...

I step up to it and knock lightly on the frame. From the other side, I hear some shuffling, the screech of a chair sliding across the floor, and suddenly, Daniel swings the door in and pokes his head out into the hall. I stare at him incredulously, hands on my hips, as he scrutinizes the corridor, head swinging left to right as he asses its sparse population.

"Uh... Daniel..." I begin, growing impatient with his paranoia. He looks straight at me, as though he's suddenly realized I was standing two feet in front of him. Then, without any kind of warning, he reaches out, grabs my arm, and pulls me into the office, slamming the door behind us and locking it.

He runs a hand through his hair and adjusts his glasses, taking an unconscious deep breath. Finally, he turns to me where I'm standing, frozen from shock near the door.

"Can't be too careful," he says, throwing me a casual grin. I shake my head and put up my hands in baffled amazement.

"Daniel! What the-"

"I'm sorry, Sam. I just... I mean, if anyone else found out this was here, I'd never get a moment's rest," he interrupts, voice all sugar-coated and innocent. Crap, I just forgot what I was going to yell at him about...

My mouth shuts itself with an audible snap and, after a second's pause, my curiosity gets the best of me. "What do you have that's so important?" I ask, moving toward him and the half-blocked appliance behind him on the workbench.

A big dopey grin builds on his face, the likes of which I haven't seen on him in ages, and he slowly steps aside, revealing the object in its full glory.

"Ta-da!" he exclaims. I tilt my head to the side a bit in confusion. *Ta-da?*

"Looks like a coffee-maker," I say, dryly. His jaw drops.

"C- Co- COFFEE?!" He stutters at my ignorance. "Sam! This... *this* is an *espresso* machine!"

"Okay, then. Why do you have an *espresso* machine in your office?" I ask, innocently. His jaw drops again. He really does that a lot...

"Well, my neighbor was gonna throw it out... got a new one. I *rescued* it," he says, proudly. I shake my head, trying to hide my grin. He makes it sound like a lost puppy. "Anyway," he continues, "I brought it here because I thought..." He grabs the open bag of beans and begins walking slowly toward me. "That I could share some of this with my *best friend*. You know... a little bonding time over lattes, something for which I *know* we share an affinity."

He holds the beans under my nose, watching my face intently. For a second, my eyes drift closed and I drink in that wonderful smell. Oh, how I've missed it!

Then, my eyes snap open and I curve my lips into a frustrated frown. Daniel *knows* I've been trying to give it up. Coffee is bad. Espresso is worse. Makes my stomach hurt and keeps me awake, and that's when I drank 8 cups a day. I've barely had two cups of coffee a week for the last month. My caffeine tolerance levels are practically zero. If I drink espresso at... what time is it? I glance at my watch... 6:15 pm, I won't live through the night. I make a decision.

"Sure, Daniel... we can bond over figuring out how to *work* this thing, as I assume that's what you *really* wanted me for, but I am *not* drinking any," I say, crossing my arms across my chest.

He blinks, then nods slowly. "Fair enough. Maybe you'll change your mind, though," he says lightly, an evil little glint in his eye. I shake my head.

We move over to the machine on the workbench and Daniel leans over to plug it in. Then, he sneaks to his little office fridge and pulls out half a gallon of milk, snagging a couple of mugs off the shelf on his way back. Together, we use our combined experiences sitting at Starbucks to make the cursed machine do its stuff.

A bittersweet aroma fills the room and my eyes widen with desire. I'm gonna crack. I just know it. As soon as Daniel finishes steaming that milk and pours that espresso over it, I'm going to grab that mug of frothy goodness and chug it.

I *have* to get out of here.

"Well, uh... you're all set, Daniel. I guess I'll head back to my lab, now..." I say, backing away from the workbench. Good. He's completely absorbed in what he's doing. Won't even notice that I'm gone. I turn around a few steps from the door and reach out for the handle.

"Sam!" I hear behind me. I freeze. "You *sure* you don't want any?" he taunts. I'm gonna kill him.

"Yes, Daniel. I'm sure," I say, without turning around.

"Oh, come on. It's mostly milk anyway. And we'll put lots of sugar in it..."

"Daniel! I don't want any!" I bring my hand down on the handle and push. Damn. I forgot, it's locked. Wasting precious seconds...

"We can put caramel in it," he adds, quietly. God, what is he trying to *do* to me? I forget about the lock and turn around warily.

"C- caramel? You have *caramel*?" I ask, starting to panic. Boy, I'm in trouble now.

"Yep," he says, and walks back to the fridge, producing a jar of caramel. He dips a tablespoon into the jar, pulls it out, dripping and overflowing, and starts stirring it into one of the mugs. It melts, turning the liquid a comforting light brown as drool appears at the corners of my mouth. Then, he dumps a tablespoon of sugar into both mugs and stirs again, glancing at me every few seconds.

Finished, Daniel lifts one of the mugs to his lips and takes a sip. His face melts into an expression of pure ecstasy.

Shit. Daniel, you suck.

I take the other mug and cautiously sip, aware of the steam rising from the blessed concoction. Orgasm. Starbucks, beat this.

Needless to say, I polish off that mug pretty quick, savoring every drop. Loving the experience. Until now, of course. Several hours after the fact, as I sit on my couch, jittery, eyes wide open and glued to the 2 am showing of Saturday Night Live, stomach twisting painfully.

All milk, my ass.


End file.
